


Cetera Desunt

by Erandir



Series: Semper ad Meliora [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Deleted Scenes, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Intersex Character, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9303488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erandir/pseuds/Erandir
Summary: Deleted scenes fromSemper ad Meliora.





	1. Difference of Opinion

**Author's Note:**

> Ask and ye shall receive!
> 
> SaM is so long already that I can't, in good conscious, go into every little thing in the main fic no matter how much I sometimes want to. But some of that stuff got written anyway because I can't help myself. The stuff I'll be posting here are the scenes which are relevant to Idhren's interpersonal relationships, background, or character development, usually cut from the main fic for pacing reasons. Some of these scenes will be incomplete, unedited, or otherwise fragmented, but this is as fleshed out as they're ever likely to get. Enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately following Chapter 13 of SaM.
> 
> Idhren is really bad at making friends, but Solas is also a racist asshole. Talk shit, get hit.

In the morning Idhren sought out Solas, the only other person here likely to know anything about the mark and how it worked. Idhren was still unnerved thinking about how the apostate had apparently studied the mark while Idhren had been unconscious following the explosion at the Conclave, but he didn't have much choice. There weren't many other mages around at the moment, and fewer that Idhren felt confident might be able to hold a decent academic discussion. He found the other mage just outside Haven, staring up at the Breach with a thoughtful expression. When he heard Idhren's footsteps he tore his eyes away from the sky and turned toward him. "Herald," he greeted, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was hoping you might be able to answer some questions for me," Idhren replied.

"I will do so to the best of my ability, Solas replied.

"You studied this, correct?" Idhren asked, holding up his marked hand. With gloves on the mark was currently unnoticeable. Unless it burst to life it would not glow strong enough to be seen through the leather. "You examined it while I was imprisoned?"

"I did," Solas replied. "I had hoped to discover some means of closing the rifts, and if the mark was connected. But without actively testing it there was no way to know if my theories were correct. Thankfully, they were."

"Yes," Idhren replied. It was good that they had some way to close to rifts, but he wasn't terribly thankful that the only means was permanently affixed to my hand. "I was curious about what you had discovered," he said, "I've been trying to observe the mark myself, but any insight you have would give me something to start with."

"I would be happy to discuss what I know," Solas replied, and he did seem genuinely interested in the subject. "And to hear what you've observed about it as well."

Idhren was pleased that the apostate was so agreeable. "Fantastic," he replied. "Would you come back to my cabin? I've some notes you could look over."

"Of course," Solas replied, and he fell into step with Idhren as the Herald began heading back toward town. "If you don't mind, Herald, I have some questions of my own."

Idhren glanced over at him and nodded. "That seems fair, ask away."

"Is it true what I've heard?" the apostate asked. "That you are from Tevinter originally?"

Idhren frowned. Solas was not the first person to ask him. Of course he had spilled that information to Cassandra and Leliana early on, and he wasn't surprised that they had shared it with the rest of the war council, but he was a little surprised that Solas knew. "Did Cassandra tell everyone, then?" he asked, unable to hide his annoyance. Where he was born was a private matter, he didn't see how anyone else needed to know.

"I apologize," Solas replied, "I didn't realize the subject was a touchy one."

Sighing, Idhren shook his head. "It's fine," he assured. "I just don't see why it matters. Or why everyone is so surprised. Yes, I was born in Tevinter, I grew up in Tevinter. Obviously, I left Tevinter."

"I have not been to the Imperium myself," Solas replied, "For obvious reasons. But even I have heard stories about the Magisterium."

"Mostly true, probably," Idhren had to admit. "But exaggerated for the most part. People only like to tell the horror stories. And before you ask, because everyone seems to: yes, I was a slave. I was born into slavery, but when my magic manifested and I proved to have talent, I was granted freedom. I haven't been a slave for a very long time."

“That is comforting to know,” Solas replied. “Were you treated very poorly in the Imperium?”

Idhren shook his head. “I had about the best life that an elf could reasonably ask for,” he replied. “I was free, I had an education, I was apprenticed to a magister.”

“And yet you left,” Solas mused.

“I said it was the best life an elf in the Imperium could hope for,” Idhren drawled, “Not that it was a good life. I studied magical theory under Magister Canidius, who was not an academic by any stretch of the imagination. Everything that I produced he took credit for, going so far as to publish one of my theories under his own name. He also still owned both my parents and my brother, he had complete control over their wellbeing, and any punishment that I earned was taken out on them.”

“That’s terrible,” Solas frowned as he took in that information, “I’m sorry that you had to live like that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Idhren shrugged. It didn’t hurt as much to think about now. Although his family was dead, he no longer worried about their wellbeing. Wherever they were now – at the Maker’s side according to the Chantry, or according to the Dalish in the Beyond with their ancestors – he liked to imagine that they were at peace. He had grieved them years ago, and their memory no longer brought him pain.

“You have since been living with the Dalish, then?” Solas asked.

“I have,” Idhren confirmed. He was glad for the change of subject. Although memories of Tevinter were no longer painful he still didn’t enjoy talking about it much. “Almost five years now.”

“I’m surprised a clan would accept an outsider into their midst enough to allow you a vallaslin,” Solas commented.

Idhren frowned. What did Solas, a flat-ear, know about vallaslin? “Why shouldn’t they?” he asked. “The Dalish are not xenophobic by nature. They are distrustful by necessity, to protect themselves from _shemlen_ , and because their resources are limited. But they would not turn aside another of the People in need if they had the means to help.”

“You have bought into their philosophy so completely,” Solas said thoughtfully.

“You say that as though it is a bad thing,” Idhren replied, and he cast a mistrustful glance at the other elf. “The Dalish have shown me nothing but kindness. They accepted me regardless of my past or where I was born. They are good people trying only to protect themselves and remember the culture of their ancestors.”

“Regardless of how flawed that memory may be,” Solas said flatly.

“And what would you know about it?” Idhren snapped, annoyed. He may not have been born Dalish, but he had lived with them for years, and he had been happier there than anywhere else. He had incredible respect for the Dalish, based on what he knew living with clan Lavellan. How could he not be proud to be considered one of them?

“There are many things the Dalish do not remember correctly,” Solas told him. “I have seen a great many things during my wanderings in the Fade. While the Dalish pass on stories, mangling the details, I have seen things they have not.”

“Have you shared any of these things with the Dalish?” Idhren asked. “Corrected our misconceptions?”

“I don’t believe the Dalish would want to hear it,” Solas replied flippantly.

Idhren stopped dead in his tracks and rounded on the other elf. “So you have done nothing. And yet you sit there on your high horse and condescend,” he snapped. “How nice it must be for you to be so much wiser and smarter than everyone else,” he drawled sarcastically. “Should I grovel at your feet and beg you to bestow your knowledge upon me? If that is the attitude you use to approach the People then you should expect nothing less than to be run off. The Dalish are not blind children twisting stories to please themselves. We are trying, damn it. And if you are not willing to help, then do not speak ill of the Dalish in front of me.” Tirade finished, he whipped around again and continue walking, storming onward and half-expecting Solas not to follow.

Solas, however, seemed unwilling to let the matter rest. “I did not mean to cause offense, _lethallin_ ,” the apostate easily caught up to Idhren, longer legs crossing the ground in fewer steps.

“Do not ‘ _lethallin_ ’ me,” Idhren snarled. “And if you didn’t want to offend you shouldn’t have insulted my people, the only people in my life who have ever showed me kindness or acceptance. The Dalish may not be perfect, but they are my family and I will not hear them defamed by some flat-ear who thinks he knows better.”


	2. Parlor Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold has become home to a handful of abandoned mage children. The Inquisitor may secretly want to adopt all of them.
> 
> Originally written for Dorianmance Week on tumblr, and therefore posted here out of chronological order.

 

More and more people arrived to Skyhold by the day. All manner of people. Farmers, craftsmen, soldiers, servants, merchants, templars, nobility, mages. A lot of mages. And children.

Mage children. Human and elf alike, some only waist high, made homeless by the dissolution of the Circles and with no choice but to fall in with the rebels. There had been children in Haven, too, though not many. That fact alone had tempted Idhren to turn them all away at the gates. This was a fortress in the midst of war, where they were liable to be attacked by an archdemon at any moment. But where else could they go? With no Circles or schools to harbor them, Skyhold was the safest place for a stray mage child.

So Idhren set aside a section of Skyhold for the mages to call their own, a tower and the adjacent wing of rooms, and made its reconstruction a priority. By the time construction was finished Skyhold was home to roughly two dozen teens and younger children from Circles in Ferelden and Orlais, and a couple from the Free Marches. He asked Vivienne and Fiona to help oversee their schooling, along with some of the other mages in residence. Idhren himself had neither the experience nor the time to do so himself, but he did find himself visiting the mage’s tower whenever he had a spare moment. To see that everything was running smoothly.

And if he interrupted lessons on rare occasions it was only because he wanted to make sure they were getting a quality education and not a Chantry brainwashing. And if those occasional interruptions usually ended with him sitting on the roof of that tower with a gaggle of students demonstrating parlor tricks it was only because they could never seem to focus on real work with the Inquisitor standing in the background. And parlor tricks were a perfectly good way to practice control. Idhren would know.

They clamored for his attention, frequently talking over each other in their eagerness to show off how their skills had improved since his last visit.

“Your worship, look look,” the youngest of the children was a human girl only nine years old, the same age Idhren had been when his own magic manifested. She thrust her hands out toward Idhren. “I made a snowball!”

What the girl held in her outstretched palms was a roughly spherical lump of slush, ice and snow all lumped together. “You did,” Idhren replied, and then because snowfall the night before had dusted the wall tops with snow he added, “With your magic?”

The girl answered with a vigorous nod, “I practiced to show you.”

Idhren smiled. “Well it’s very good,” he praised. “I can see you’ve been working hard.” The girl beamed under the praise. “And if you keep practicing, then eventually you can make something like this…” Idhren cupped his hands together and channeled his mana into his hands, drawing on the water vapor in the air and freezing it. With a small flourish he revealed a perfect sphere of ice the size of a large marble cupped in the palm of his hand. The sphere glittered in the dull winter sunlight as he handed it over to the young girl, who could do nothing but gape in amazement.

“But look what I can do!” another interrupted – a boy of twelve or thirteen years, if Idhren had to guess. He thrust his hand out toward Idhren and called up a small wisp of fire between his fingers, no larger than a candle flame. His face screwed up in concentration, brows furrowed and lips pursed. The flame flickered and grew, wavered and attempted to pull itself into a shape, then abruptly exploded, emitting a cloud of smoke directly into the boy’s face, and the faces of those nearest him.

Cries of alarm and complaint went up immediately. There was a smattering of coughing, some genuine and some overly dramatic. Idhren waved the smoke out of his face and laughed lightly, “Alright, alright, calm down. Nobody’s hurt, right?” As the air cleared he saw the boy who had cast the spell, a little ashy around the edges but unharmed. Wounded pride, maybe. Idhren knew that feeling, he couldn’t count the number of times he’d accidentally exploded something in his youth. “Now you see why we need to be very careful when working on primal magic,” he said, hypocritical though it was. “Even a simple spell can be dangerous if you lose control of it.”

“I was concentrating, though,” the boy complained.

“Maybe you just need a bit more practice, then,” Idhren suggested. “You’ll get it eventually.”

Before Idhren could offer any more tips, or watch any more tricks, the trapdoor leading back down into the tower creaked open and slammed back onto the wooden roof. The sound drew everyone’s attention and Idhren looked over the heads of the children seated around him. He expected to see one of the children’s instructors come out to call them back in to their lessons, so when Dorian appeared instead he was quite surprised.

The man quickly took in the scene before his gaze landed on Idhren. “Why am I not at all surprised to find you causing all this ruckus?” he commented.

The backfiring spell had been rather loud, but that was hardly Idhren’s fault. “Lord Pavus has seen fit to grace us with his presence,” he said blithely, drawing a few shy giggles from the children. “What managed to draw you out of the library?”

“I came to borrow some research materials,” Dorian answered, climbing out onto the roof. “Only to find you’ve sent everyone downstairs into a tizzy with your antics. What are we doing up here, then? Teaching everyone dangerous, forbidden Tevinter magics?”

“Hardly,” Idhren said, rolling his eyes, “We’re comparing parlor tricks. But, I suppose we’ve been long enough for one day. You lot should head back inside.” There was a lot of muted grumbling and complaints, but the kids did pick themselves up and begin filing back down the ladder into the tower. “Keep working on that trick,” Idhren said to the boy before he could leave, “Maybe you can show me next time.”

That made him perk up immediately. “I’ll get it,” the boy promised, full of determination and youthful enthusiasm, “And it’ll be amazing.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Idhren agreed. He watched the last of the students filed back into the tower and rose to his feet, carefully dusting off his pants.

“Teaching parlor tricks to children? Really?” Dorian asked when the last of them had disappeared, though they had left the trapdoor wide open.

“Is there something wrong with that?” Idhren asked, perhaps a bit defensively. “It’s a good way for them to practice finite control while making it entertaining enough that they actually practice. It worked for me, after all.”

“I suppose it did,” Dorian admitted, shrugging one shoulder. “Perhaps I’m merely surprised that you would bother to take an interest in their education at all. Beyond ensuring they have one, that is.”

Idhren frowned. “Why does that surprise you?” he asked. Why shouldn’t he take an interest? The children needed someone to encourage their talents, and someone to look up to while so much of the world still vilified their existence.

“I don’t know,” Dorian mused thoughtfully, “Perhaps because you seem to have so little interest in anyone else around here.”

“That’s not true,” Idhren protested. “I spend a lot of time with people when we’re here. We’re just not here very often. And I have an Inquisition to run.” Which left little time for socializing, but Idhren did try to check in on his people when his schedule allowed it.

“I’m sorry, I must have phrased that wrong,” Dorian replied. “I meant you have little interest in going out of your way to be nice to anyone.”

“Most people don’t deserve it,” Idhren quipped.

“Indeed,” Dorian agreed. “And yet you let those children live here – a questionable decision at best, but I understand your reasons – gave them this very nice tower, saw that they have proper teachers. You could have left it at that.”

“I could have,” Idhren allowed. “But those children are here because their families cast them out and there were no Circles left to take them in. They deserve better than to be shoved into a corner and forgotten about.”

Dorian’s lips quirked into a tiny amused smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve secretly been a bleeding heart all this time.”

Idhren let out a disgusted scoff and crossed his arms over his chest. “I realize you get off on pretending to be a vain, heartless asshole all the time,” he groused, “But there’s nothing wrong with feeling sympathy. They need someone to look up to.”

“And you so humbly stepped into the roll,” Dorian quipped.

Idhren scowled at him. “Are you being purposely obtuse?” he asked. And when Dorian only looked mildly confused by the accusation, he rolled his eyes and explained. “When I was their age I was a slave. The only person I had to look up to was another slave, my greatest aspiration to do a magister’s taxes.” He watched as the smile slipped off Dorian’s face, but didn’t stop there. “Do you think those kids haven’t grown up hearing about the dangers of magic and mages? Especially after Kirkwall and the rebellion? The same way I grew up hearing how worthless elves were?”

“I… never thought of it that way,” Dorian was forced to admit, more than a little sheepish.

“No, you never do,” Idhren complained. “It would require coming down from your ivory tower long enough to hold an actual conversation with a commoner.”

Dorian glanced across the fortress to the tower that housed the library - his usual haunt. “That tower is hardly ivory,” he commented. “And if that’s one of the renovations you have planned I’m going to have to protest. It would be terribly gauche, and clash with the rest of the architecture.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Idhren sighed.

“I do,” Dorian sobered, albeit reluctantly. “You so delight in pointing out all of my shortcomings.”

“Someone has to,” Idhren told him, quirking a small smile of his own now. “Your ego is bad enough as it is.”

“It’s a wonder I put up with you at all,” Dorian complained.

“I could say the same,” Idhren replied. “But you’re avoiding the subject.”

“Am I?” Dorian asked. Idhren couldn’t tell whether the ignorance was feigned or not, though he suspected it was. “What was the point, exactly? I thought I was merely teasing you for being a bleeding heart.”

“I am not a bleeding heart,” Idhren protested a little too strongly for it to be believed. “I just like children.”

Something about the words, or maybe the way he’d said them, made Dorian pause. A brief flicker of surprise, then terror, crossed his face before he managed to school his expression once more. “I had no idea,” he commented. “Is that… something you want? Children, I mean. Of your own.”

Idhren sighed, agitation bleeding away, and turned to look out at the surrounding mountains. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I never had much of a childhood myself. Or a family. Anyone to look out for me. I just want them to have a better go of it than I had. Is that so wrong?”

“No,” Dorian replied. And for once he sounded sincere. Maybe Idhren’s words had gotten through that thick skull after all. “Not at all.”

“Now’s hardly the best time to be thinking about starting a family anyway,” Idhren continued. He gestured out toward the green scar in the distant sky, a constant reminder of what they had been through and what they were still fighting against. “The world is ending.”

“True,” Dorian agreed. He stepped up to to the edge of the roof beside where Idhren was standing, hip propped against the battlement and staring out into the distance.

“Tainan wanted kids,” Idhren commented, quiet and only half-conscious of saying it aloud. “Even offered to steal one from a city for us.”

Dorian barked a short laugh, “And you Dalish wonder where all those horrid rumors come from.”

“Do you?” Idhren asked before he could think better of it, turning his face up toward Dorian. “Want children?”

The silence that followed was long and decidedly uncomfortable. “It’s not something I’ve ever given any thought,” Dorian said eventually. “At least, not without the context of a horrid loveless marriage to a woman I can barely stand, which makes everything look terrible by proxy.” Idhren could only imagine, and nodded his understanding. “Get back to me when the world is no longer ending. If we live that long.”

Unable to help himself, Idhren smiled. “I can do that,” he promised. Rising up onto his toes he pressed a kiss to Dorian’s cheek, barely catching the corner of his mouth. “Maybe spending some time with the students would help make your decision,” he suggested with a smirk. “I’m sure they’d love to learn something from a rebel magister.”

“Oh, for--,” Dorian cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. “Tell me you are not perpetuating that infuriating misconception. You know better!”

“Correct it yourself,” Idhren laughed. A cold wind gusted across the wall tops and he instinctively shifted closer to Dorian for warmth.

Dorian visibly shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. “You are completely insufferable,” he complained, “As is this blighted weather.”

After five years in the south Idhren still hated and dreaded winter, but he had at least learned how to dress for the cold. Dorian, on the other hand, still considered silk a valid fashion choice when there was snow on the ground. “Let’s go back inside then,” he sidled up closer to Dorian and slipped his arms around the taller man’s waist, “I’ll show you just how insufferable I can be.”

Dorian rolled his eyes but huffed in amusement. “Is that so?”

To answer, Idhren rose up onto his toes, one hand moving up to Dorian’s shoulder to pull the man down until their lips met. The kiss was slow and sweet, belying the heated promise in Idhren’s words, but when they parted Idhren was smiling. He slipped out of Dorian’s arms and moved toward the trapdoor. “Unless you have something better to do.”

“You know, I can’t think of a single thing,” Dorian replied, and followed after the grinning elf.


	3. Favors For Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were very few people Idhren could have called friend during his life in Tevinter, and he may not have been able to do anything for them at the time, but what's the point of controlling a massive spy network if you can't use it for something selfish once in a while?

It was one of the first things Idhren did after becoming Inquisitor. After the reality of his new position finally settled in, at least, and he felt more comfortable bossing around so many humans. Being Inquisitor was different from being Herald of Andraste. Before there had been respect for his imagined holiness and therefore respect for the value of his opinion, but his position had been largely symbolic. No actual power. This was different. The Inquisitor commanded the Inquisition - his word was law. He had an army at his disposal, soldiers as well as spies. It was the spies that interested him now.

"It's more a personal favor," Idhren admitted to Leliana when he approached her with his proposal. "Hardly crucial to our mission, so I'll understand if you don't make this a priority given we're still recovering from Haven. But it would mean a great deal to me."

Leliana watched him curiously as he rambled, and then offered him a polite smile. He found it near impossible to guess what was going on in her head and that unnerved him a little. "I can certainly have someone look into it," she replied. "What do you need?"

"I want you to find someone for me," Idhren explained. "It may be difficult. It may be impossible."

"Very few things are truly impossible, Inquisitor," Leliana assured him.

And for her, Idhren did not doubt that was true. "I want you to find a woman by the name of Valora. When last I knew her she was a slave in the employ of Magister Linus Canidius of Vyrantium. That was five years ago, so she may have changed hands in that time."

"A woman?" Leliana's expression showed surprise, and it might have actually been genuine. "A friend of yours?" she asked, a small, knowing smile crossing her face.

Idhren blanched at the unspoken suggestion. "Only a friend," he insisted immediately. "She was my assistant when I was apprenticed to Canidius. She was taken by slavers from Denerim during the Blight," he continued before Leliana could apologize for her implication. He would rather just forget about it. "She could still have family in Ferelden."

Leliana's brow rose in surprise, and then furrowed again as she frowned. "A great many were taken from the alienage at that time," she said solemnly. "I'd always wondered what became of them."

Oh, right. She'd been there. With the Hero of Ferelden. Idhren swallowed back the urge to ask the thousand questions he had about that endeavor. That wasn't what he'd come here for, and he had no desire to reveal that side of himself to his spymaster. "I don't know of any others," he said regretfully. Not that he'd made much of an effort at the time to find out. He wouldn't have been able to help any of them, though, just as he'd been unable to help Valora. "Canidius didn't buy new slaves often, or get rid of them. So I think there's a good chance she may still be working at his Vyrantium estate. She was a house slave, mostly, but she can read and write so she often picked up other tasks." He didn't know why he was telling her this, it couldn't possibly help in locating her if she was no longer in Vyrantium.

Some part of him had always felt guilty for leaving her behind. He'd barely had the means to get himself out of Tevinter, however. Buying her freedom as well as passage south for both of them was completely out of the question. But he wondered, sometimes, about her, and about Varius. The people that he'd left behind.

Leliana had moved over to the table that served as her desk, scattered with reports and stray feathers. Fishing out a fresh piece of parchment, she began to write. "Her name is Valora?" she confirmed, "Owned by a magister... Canidius, did you say?"

"Linus Canidius, of Vyrantium," Idhren confirmed.

"And originating from Ferelden, she would have arrived in Tevinter some time in 9:32, I think?" she reasoned.

"Yes," Idhren nodded. "Shortly before I left the Circle." Very shortly. He remembered she still had manacle bruises on her wrists when they met.

"Do you know anything else about her?" Leliana asked. "Any family? Was she born in Denerim?"

Idhren racked his brain to remember all that Valora had told him of herself. But it wasn't something they had talked about often. Remembering what she'd been taken from made her sad and homesick, so Idhren had stopped asking. "I think she wasn't originally from Denerim, but I can't remember what city she said. I don't know anything about her family, I'm sorry. I know it's not much to go on. She has blonde hair, about my age, I think, but a little bit taller than I am."

Leliana nodded as she made not of everything that Idhren could tell her. When finished, she folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into a pocket. "I don't have many contacts in Tevinter," she said, "But I'll try to get someone to look into this. What would you like me to do if I succeed in locating her?"

Idhren tilted his head up and looked his spymaster straight in the eye. "I want you to get her out," he said firmly. "I don't care how you do it, but I want her out of Tevinter. I want her free."

"It would be my pleasure, Inquisitor," Leliana replied, smiling. "Is there anything else?"

Idhren returned the smile. He didn't now if Leliana would succeed, but a part of him felt lighter for having tried. "Not at the moment," he replied. "Thank you, spymaster. I'll let you get back to your work."

 

* * *

 

Time passed. Life went on. The war raged on. Eventually, Idhren forgot entirely about his request. There was too much else on his mind to be worrying about such a hopeless quest.

And then one day Leliana approached Idhren while he was wading through paperwork. It was unusual for her to come see him personally instead of sending a runner, so Idhren was immediately alerted that something was different.

"I have good news for you, Inquisitor," Leliana informed him with a proud smile. "That friend you asked me to find for you, the elven woman you used to work with? We have her."

Idhren's eyes widened. The quill he'd been writing with fell from numb fingers. "Valora?" he asked, suddenly reminded of the request he had made months ago. "You found her? Where is she? Is she alright?"

"She is safe at the moment," Leliana assured him. "I've just received word that my agents successfully got her out of Vyrantium and they are en-route to Skyhold as we speak."

Out of Vyrantium. Not yet out of Tevinter - although with the time it must have taken the messenger raven to get here they might be halfway across the Silent Plains by now - but away from Canidius. Free. He could not stop the grin that spread across his face, nor did he want to. "How long before they arrive?" he asked eagerly, though he already knew the answer. It took weeks to reach Tevinter from here.

"Some weeks yet," Leliana replied. "But she will be in good hands with my people. They will ensure she makes it here safely."

Idhren breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't doubt it," he said. "Please let me know as soon as you hear anything else. I'd like to be here when she arrives, if possible." And not out in the middle of nowhere fighting demons.

 

* * *

  
Unfortunately Idhren could not sit around Skyhold awaiting the arrival of old friends. There was work to be done, a war to fight, rifts to close. The news came by scout when he was still several days out, making their way up through the foothills of the Frostbacks and not yet reached the high mountain passes around Skyhold. And even then the news was vague. "I've been sent to inform you that a guest has arrived at Skyhold to see you, Inquisitor, and will be awaiting your return." And then the scout was off again, on their way to bring news to any of a dozen other Inquisition outposts.

She must have been there nearly a week by the time Idhren finally rode back through the main gates and swung down from his mount's back, dusty and unwashed from days on the road. As usual, Josephine awaited the Inquisitor's return in the courtyard, ready to inform him of any and all news that had come up during his time away from their base. But this time she was not alone. At her side stood an elven woman, well clothed and clean, with her mousy hair tied back in a single braid running down her back. She stood back from the ambassador shyly, as though uncertain of her place or whether she belonged. But when she set eyes on Idhren her own went wide with recognition, and she raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

Despite his weariness from recent travel, Idhren felt much of it melt away when he saw her and a spark of joy welled up in his chest at the sight. "Valora?" he asked, stepping away from his horse as the stablehands came to lead it away.

The woman nodded. Her posture was still shy, nervous, but she stepped forward, eyes wide and locked onto Idhren's face. "It's really you," she breathed. "I didn't believe it at first when they told me."

"Neither did I," Idhren joked weakly. Still not entirely believing his eyes, he took another proper look at her. She was thin as a rail, worryingly so even for an elf, but that was all too common among slaves. The dress she wore was clearly new, and she looked otherwise healthy. Leliana's people had taken good care of her, it seemed. "You're... unharmed?" he asked. He wanted to run up and embrace her, but he was uncomfortably aware that they were not alone, and it had been so many years since he'd last seen her he wasn't certain how well such an action would be received. "They've been treating you well?"

"Like a queen, it seems," Valora replied with a small smile. She hesitated a small moment, and then smiled a little brighter, with a little more confidence. "It's so good to see you, Idhren."

His resolve broke immediately. With quick steps Idhren rushed forward and all but threw his arms around her shoulders, embracing her as tightly as he dared. "I'm glad you're safe," he said. "I'm sorry..." he swallowed a sudden lump in his throat before continuing, "I'm sorry I didn't get you out of there sooner."

"It's not your fault," Valora assured him, returning his embrace. When they broke apart her eyes were damp, though no tears had fallen. "To be perfectly honest I'm surprised you even remembered me after all these years."

The very idea that she thought he'd forgotten here horrified Idhren. "How could I not? You were my only friend, Valora. I owe you so much. More than I could ever repay." For all those years under Canidius she had always been there for him, a true friend and confidant whom he trusted above anyone else in the mansion. Sometimes her friendship had been the only thing that made living there seem worth it. Especially after his family was gone.

"Repay me?" Valora asked in bewilderment. "Idhren, this is more than I ever could have asked of anyone. You've brought me home." Unshed tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them back, not allowing them to fall.

"We'll consider it even, then," Idhren replied. It had personally been little effort for him to get her out of Tevinter, though he had no idea what Leliana's people had gone through. He probably didn't want to know. All that mattered was that she was free of that place, and he had used this power given him for something undeniably good.

"Very well," she agreed, offering him a watery smile. "We'll call it even. But only if you tell me absolutely everything that's happened since you left. And what in the Maker's name you've done to your hair."

Idhren laughed and despite that he was still tired and filthy from the road he offered her his arm to lead her up into the main hall. It was only as an afterthought that he remembered Josephine standing nearby and turned his attention to her. "I'm sorry, Josephine," he said, realizing that she had been standing there patiently the whole time. "Is there anything that needs my attention?"

The lady ambassador smiled a soft knowing smile. "Nothing that cannot wait until you are rested and have had a chance to catch up with old friends, Inquisitor," she assured him.

"Thank you," Idhren replied, incredibly grateful for her understanding. "I'll come speak with you later."

"Of course, Inquisitor," Josephine replied with a small nod of acknowledgement, then swept off back to her duties.

Idhren turned back to Valora. She had changed little over the years they had been apart. Her hair was longer, she showed the signs of age that were common in slaves worked too hard, but he was glad to see that Tevinter had not been too hard on her. At least not physically. But that was a conversation for a different time. "I found the Dalish," he informed her as he began leading her up toward the keep.

 


	4. Funeral Rites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idhren receives a care package from Clan Lavellan.
> 
> Prompt: The way you said 'I love you' when I am dead & as a goodbye.

Idhren had not seen many Dalish funerals. He hadn’t lived with Clan Lavellan very long, in the grand scheme of things, and only three of its number had passed in those nearly five years. None were people that Idhren had known well or personally. So he had observed but not participated, although Keeper Istimaethoriel had explained to him the prayers and traditions they followed to mark such an occasion.

He was aware that the clan had held a funeral for Tainan after receiving Idhren’s letter, but of course he had been stuck here with the Inquisition and unable to attend.

When the Chantry recognized All Souls Day he had ventured into the small chapel in Skyhold when the castle was asleep, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself for Tainan. Because Tainan didn’t believe in the Maker, it wasn’t what Tainan would have wanted. Tainan would have wanted a Dalish funeral. He realized he should do something more fitting, and the thought nagged at the back of his mind for days.

Then the next letter arrived from his clan. And with it a chest.

 _I’ve sent with your messenger some of your possessions which you might find useful or a comfort in these trying times. The rest I will keep safe, or see distributed to the rest of the clan._ Istimaethoriel wrote in the letter, and curiously Idhren opened the lid of the chest.

The first thing he saw, resting atop everything else, were the three solitary books Idhren had brought with him out of Tevinter, all now dog-eared with age and the dozens of time Idhren had read them. One of those was his own book, with its defaced cover and stuffed full of additional notes. This Idhren picked up. He ran his fingers over the place in the cover where Tainan had carved away Canidius’ name and now Idhren’s was written instead.

Ever so carefully, Idhren set the three books aside and reached for the next item in the chest. This was a small carving of a dog similar to the sort that Dalish superstition said kept away the spirit of the Dread Wolf. Idhren did not believe such superstitions, but he appreciated the thought that went behind such an addition. Also in the trunk was the focus from the staff Idhren had crafted shortly after joining the clan – a staff that was less flashy than the one he’d brought from Tevinter which had been lost in the Conclave explosion. The staff itself, he assumed, was too large to send, but the focus could be incorporated into a new one.

Underneath all of that was nothing but a mass of deep brown fur.

When he recognized what it was Idhren could do nothing but gape for a long moment. With trembling fingers he reached into the trunk and gently stroked the familiar rough fur. Tainan’s courtship gift. His fingers sank into the fur and he pulled its bulk out of the chest, pressed his face into the thick fur and breathed in deep.

But of course the blanket had long ago lost the last traces of Tainan’s scent. It had been months.

Idhren squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed back the lump in his throat as he continued to hold the fur to his face. He didn’t want to cry anymore. He was done crying. But it was difficult.

He rose to his feet and hauled the bearskin out of the trunk. It was bulky, weighty, and difficult to manage, not to mention stiff from being folded in that trunk for so long. As he attempted to shake out the must and creases from storage something small clattered out of the folds and onto the floor, rolling a short distance on the carpeting until coming to a stop. The item was small, but it caught Idhren’s attention when it fell and he paused. Quickly, he set the bearskin aside, laying it out over the sofa, and then bent to pick up the small item.

It was a ring.

A small, thin ring carved carefully out of ironbark and engraved with a motif of tiny zigzags around the outside. No, not zigzags, Idhren realized with growing dismay. Lightning bolts.

This was a wedding ring. His wedding ring.

How long had Tainan had this? How long had they spent just waiting, endlessly patient, for Idhren to say he was ready?

So much for not crying anymore.

He clutched the ring in a fist and wiped the tears from his cheeks with the other hand. As horrible a reminder this was – of how much he had taken for granted and squandered, of how selfish he had been and how much he had lost – he knew now what to do.

He hadn’t had anything to bury before. Maybe that was why he’d been so uncertain.

Skyhold’s garden was very low on the list of things to be repaired, hardly a priority when there were still entire wings that lacked roofing and holes in the walls. So it was no surprise that the area was empty when Idhren ventured out later that same evening. Some effort had been made to clear out the worst of the overgrowth and weeds, leaving the area mostly patchy grass with small clumps of trees and shrubs around the edges. In one corner an area had been marked off with string and a small herb garden was being carefully cultivated. But the whole courtyard stood empty right now.

Following Elvhen tradition, the Dalish planted a sapling to mark the graves of their people. Idhren didn’t have one, nor did he know where to obtain one up here in the mountains. If ever there had been a newly sprouted tree in this courtyard the well meaning gardeners had torn it out.

But Tainan had never been very big on following tradition to the letter simply for the sake of it. It was the spirit of the tradition that mattered, and there were plenty of perfectly lovely trees right here. Ones that he would be able to see from the balcony of his new quarters.

He picked a tree to the side of the courtyard, tall and strong, branches reaching up to the sky and filled with red leaves.

He had no tools, but Idhren fell to his knees in the dirt at the roots of the tree and dug with bare fingers a shallow hole at the base of the tree. Into that hole he placed the ring, and stared at it for a long moment, vision blurred by unshed tears, before carefully pressing the dirt back into place. “Falon’din,” the words slipped from his lips in a choked whisper, “Friend of the dead, please guide them safely to the Beyond. Watch over them, and carry them, as they did for me.” He smoothed out the dirt so that the disturbance was barely noticeable. “Tainan… I love you,” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut to try and hold back the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was scared.” His attempts at holding back the tears failed and they spilled from his eyes, spattering onto the soil where he’d buried the ring. “I miss you so much. I’m so sorry.”


	5. Lyrium Addicts Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a part of chapter 22 of Semper ad Meliora before I took it in a different direction.

Descending back to the great hall, Idhren crossed the room with quick strides and emerged out into the garden. The day was overcast, clouds grey, heavy, and threatening snowfall in the near future. Whatever old wards were built into the foundations of this place kept the sky from dumping more than a light dusting of snow or a thin layer of frost on Skyhold’s grounds, but the atmosphere was gloomy and cold none-the-less. Idhren never had fully adapted to the cooler southern climate. He really should have asked to move this particular appointment inside given the time of year. But Cullen needed the fresh air even more than Idhren did, as well as what little sunlight managed to get through the clouds.

He found the commander already seated at the chessboard that was now a permanent fixture inside the gazebo, pieces already laid out before him. The man himself was hunched over the board, elbows on the arms of his seat and hands folded in front of his mouth as he stared at the pieces in deep concentration. Plotting out his strategy for their match, perhaps.

“Sorry I’m late,” Idhren said to announce his presence. He wasn’t certain he was late, to be honest, but Cullen appeared to have been waiting a while.

The man started slightly and looked up. There were dark circles under his eyes, but those were a permanent fixture these days. What was more concerning was the redness of his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. “It’s no problem,” Cullen assured.

He gestured to the seat across from him and Idhren took it. Taking a proper look at the board Idhren realized that Cullen had taken the liberty of giving himself the white pieces. He supposed that’s what he got for overbooking his morning. “Looks like it’s your move,” he observed.

“So long as you don’t mind,” Cullen offered.

“Not at all,” Idhren assured, and gestured for the man to start their game. They made small talk over the first several moves. The weather, the status of Cullen’s troops, how odd it felt to not be planning for some immediate goal. And then Idhren got down to the real reason they were meeting. “How have you been feeling?”

Cullen paused for a moment, hand hovering above the chess board and trying to disguise the sudden tenseness of his shoulders as reconsidering his move. Idhren waited, said nothing more, and watched as Cullen finally picked up a piece and shifted it across the board. “Good days and bad days,” the commander answered vaguely.

“And today?” Idhren pressed without taking his eyes off the board.

“Good,” Cullen replied. And then a beat later, “So far.”

“That’s something to be optimistic about, isn’t it?” Idhren tried to be encouraging, but this really wasn’t his strong suit. He was not good at comforting people, but he knew rather too well what Cullen was going through, and he wanted to help. “It doesn’t look like you got much sleep last night, though,” he observed.

“There’s a lot of work to get done,” Cullen said, a bit defensive.

Idhren did not doubt that was true on some level. Just because they were not planning an imminent assault didn’t mean they could sit about twiddling their thumbs. He had plenty of paperwork piled up on his own desk, he doubted Cullen’s looked much different. That still did not excuse him from getting a proper nights’ sleep, however. “You know you’re no good to us if you’re falling asleep on your feet,” he scolded lightly. “Was it nightmares or were you feeling ill?”

Across the chessboard Cullen flushed in shame. It was uncomfortable getting called out on a perceived weakness, Idhren understood that. But this was necessary, and something they had agreed to. Cullen could continue to dodge questions all he wanted; Idhren would continue asking unless directly told to stop. While he waited for the man’s answer Idhren moved one of his pieces across the board. A moment later he was rewarded. “I’ve had a headache all week,” Cullen admitted. “I thought at first it was just the stress from the Winter Palace, but it hasn’t abated.”

“And now you think it’s the withdrawal,” Idhren finished for him. Cullen nodded in confirmation. “I remember that feeling,” Idhren murmured. “Not being certain whether I was actually ill or if it was my body craving lyrium.”

“How… How bad was it for you?” Cullen spoke while moving one of his pieces, a good way to avoid having to look at the Inquisitor’s face. Idhren was well aware of how much the man disliked talking about this, disliked admitting any weakness to someone who was technically his superior. But from what Idhren understood, no one down south admitted that a Templar’s addiction to lyrium was a problem. No one spoke of how the Chantry leashed their soldiers. And no one other than Idhren and Cassandra knew that Cullen was trying to free himself of that leash.

“I didn’t realize how much I’d been abusing until I left Tevinter,” Idhren mused. “It’s normal there, and so easy to find I never realized I was even craving it. Just thought ‘oh, I might like to visit the lyrium den today, have a nice out-of-body experience.’ So I did. It wasn’t until I couldn’t that I realized it had been a problem.” That had been a long time ago, and his forceful withdrawal from the drug had come at a stressful turning point in his life. It was still hard to say how many of his symptoms were from lyrium and how many were simply the stress of turning his entire life upside down. “I had headaches, certainly. And I would feel… Like my magic was weaker. As though I couldn’t access as much mana as I had before. Can’t say it was ever as bad as some of the symptoms you’ve described, but I was not using it for as long, or as heavily, as Templars do.”

Across the table Cullen slumped down in his chair slightly and stared unseeing at the board as Idhren contemplated his next move. Part of Idhren wanted to push more, but he also recognized that Cullen did seem to be doing rather well today, insomnia aside. No reason to ruin a good day by poking at old wounds. So instead he changed the subject. “Did you know I was terrified of you when we first met?”

That caught the man’s attention. The commander looked up sharply, meeting Idhren’s gaze for the first time since he’d arrived. “What? Really?”

“Templar. Mage,” Idhren elaborated, pointing to each of them in turn. “The templars in Tevinter, they can’t do what you lot do down here. No lyrium, no powers. Magisterium wouldn’t allow anyone to have that kind of power over them. Didn’t have much experience with southern templars, either.”

“You’d heard a lot of stories, though?” Cullen asked.

“Of course. In Tevinter, and with the Dalish. But also… When I first came down here it was right after Kirkwall,” Idhren said carefully, aware that was still a very sensitive subject for Cullen. “Right when the rebellion was starting. Not officially yet, but I guess there were already more mages running from the circles than usual, and Templars all on edge after what happened in Kirkwall. I ran into some in the woods. Had no idea what you lot could do. If Tai-- … If one of my clanmates hadn’t been there I’d probably be dead.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen breathed, frowning. “They attacked you even though you’re Dalish?”

“I don’t think this particular lot would have cared either way,” Idhren replied. “But I didn’t look particularly Dalish at the time. I certainly didn’t have the tattoos yet, and in my Tevinter clothes I probably looked more like a Circle runaway than a Dalish mage. Not that that makes it acceptable.”


	6. Misunderstandings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I haven't finished this month's chapter for Semper ad Meliora, here's a deleted scene that's been chilling on my computer for a while. Hopefully it will tide you over until I get the writing juices going again.
> 
> This takes place early on in Dorian and Idhren's relationship, but I don't have an exact time for it. Just while they're still sort of getting used to things.

The sun had been up for hours already when Dorian finally peeled his eyes open and decided it was time to face the day. The sun shone dim through the windows, indicating an overcast day outside. That made him rather less inclined to get up. But he'd left a book half finished in the library that he was itching to get back to, abandoned when Idhren coaxed him away to bed the night before with warm lips and whispered promises, and that desire was enough to prevent him from falling back to sleep for another hour or so.

There was only one small problem.

The Inquisitor was still asleep. And, as Dorian was beginning to realize, the elf was an exceptionally clingy sleeper. At the moment, Idhren's petite body was at least halfway atop Dorian's own, head on the man's chest and an arm and leg twined around him.

A day to sleep in was so incredibly rare for the Inquisitor that Dorian was loath to disturb his well-earned rest. So he was careful, as he slowly peeled Idhren's arm off him and disentangled their legs. Then came the hard part, rolling Idhren off him without waking him up.

Somehow, he managed. But just as he deposited the elf down onto the pillows he shifted, eyelids fluttering but not coming open. Dorian froze, one arm still trapped beneath Idhren's head. The elf did not wake. Instead he rolled over, away from Dorian, and pulled the blankets up higher over his shoulders. "Too early, Tai."  The words escaped his lips in a barely intelligible mumble, but in the silence of the room Dorian heard them loud and clear.

He heard the name loud and clear.

Tainan.

Idhren's Dalish lover - betrothed, even. Gone from the world less than a year before Idhren fell into bed with him. And clearly still haunting the Inquisitor’s dreams.

He shouldn't have been surprised. He wasn't, truly. He'd always known, a part of him had always known, this was the truth. No matter how much Idhren protested, no matter how much he insisted otherwise, Dorian was a replacement. A willing body to warm his bed and ease the loneliness in his heart. Dorian had been that before, and it had never bothered him then. But this time was different. This time there were promises, words both whispered in secret and proclaimed for all to hear, and against his better judgment Dorian had allowed himself to believe those words were true. Perhaps a fraction of that professed love was true. Maybe all that insistence was Idhren trying to convince himself.

Dorian climbed out of bed in something of a daze. He dressed himself without consciously thinking about it. All the while the Inquisitor slept on, oblivious to the dark cloud that had taken up residence in Dorian's heart. And he was still asleep when Dorian slipped out of the room.

Suddenly the thought of books and his chair in the library held no interest. But it was too early for the tavern, even for him. There would be too few people there, no crowd to try and hide himself in. So someone would notice and word would get back to the keep, to the Inquisitor. And then Idhren would show up, all worried calf eyes and pouting lips, to ask what was wrong.

And that was the problem, wasn't it. Because when those calf eyes turned to him, a glimpse of vulnerability behind the confident facade, a pretty face murmuring exactly what Dorian's heart wanted to hear, he had no defense.

They had raided the wine cellar already the night before. A bottle shared without glasses as they tumbled into the sheets. If Dorian was lucky the door would still be unlocked, still left ajar where they had been too preoccupied to close it properly, and one or two more missing bottles would not be missed.

He was lucky this morning. At least in this. As though the Maker were offering an apology for stabbing him through the heart only moments ago.

Two bottles. Antivan brandy and Nevarran port. Strong and sweet, and easily written off by whomever was in charge of stocks as the Inquisitor's pilfering, not his own. From there it was easy to return to his own room without being noticed.

His nights with the Inquisitor were still fewer than nights spent on his own, though they were frequent. Idhren desired companionship even when not in the mood for more carnal pleasures, and pulled Dorian up to his rooms any evening he wasn't trapped in politics. But although this room was still lived in, still housed the vast majority of his possessions, it had been a few days since he'd last set foot here.

The grate was cold and the chill of the Frostbacks had begun to seep its way through the stone walls. He shivered, and quickly set more wood in the fireplace and set it ablaze with a gesture. He could at least be comfortable in his misery. One had to have some standards, after all.

 

* * *

 

It was evening before Idhren realized that he hadn't seen Dorian all day. But that wasn't terribly unusual. He'd been locked up in the war room all afternoon and Dorian was perfectly capable of keeping himself entertained around Skyhold. They hardly needed to see each other every second of the day. He had been a little surprised to find the man up and out of bed already by the time he got up himself, but didn't think it was anything to worry about. Even when he went around the library after dinner but didn't find Dorian in residence he didn't think much of it. So Dorian hadn't waited for him to get out of meetings before going about his day, that wasn't anything to worry about.

When he hadn't seen Dorian by evening the next day, he began to wonder what the man was up to. He made his way to the library before dinner was served in the hall, thinking they might at least dine together even if both were caught up in work most of the day.

But again Dorian was not there.

The tavern, he thought. For all Dorian's complaints about watered down Ferelden ale and bland southern cooking, he ate a fair amount of both.

But when he went down to the tavern, Dorian was nowhere to be found. He ate there himself, pulled into conversation by others and starting to get hungry himself. Whatever Dorian was up to, he was certain it wasn't anything to worry about.

Still, after a filling meal and several drinks, he made his way around to Dorian's room. Because the night was cold and his bed was entirely too large to be slept in alone.

He knocked on the door and waited, arms wrapped around himself as the chill of night began to settle across the fortress' grounds. There was no answer. If Dorian wasn't here, and he wasn't in the tavern, or the main hall, or the library, where else would he be at this hour? The mage tower? Frowning, Idhren tried knocking one more time, this time calling out "Dorian? Are you there?"

Again, no answer. He turned to look up at the tower, but its windows were dark as the mages joined the rest of Skyhold for their evening meal.

Idhren frowned and wracked his brain, but there was nowhere else Dorian spent any significant amount of time, he had no idea where else to look. And now he was beginning to wonder if he should be concerned. It wasn't like Dorian to just up and disappear like this.

Thinking he might at least find a clue as to the man's whereabouts inside, Idhren tried the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. At a touch the handle turned easily, and then the door swung slowly inward.

"Dorian?" Idhren asked again, this time hushed as he peeked in around the door. The room was dimly lit, a fire burned low in the grate and the candles on the bedside table the only light, and the sun had long since set. Had the man gone to bed early? That was so unlike him.

Well, Idhren could find him in the morning to make sure everything was alright, but he was at least going to put out those candles and maybe stoke the fire before he left.  
  
Moving slowly so he wouldn't disturb Dorian's sleep, Idhren slipped into the room and shut the door behind him ever so carefully. He tip-toed over to the fireplace and put two new logs on the embers before gently stoking the flames back to life. Dorian would be in a miserable mood tomorrow if his room got too cold during the night.  
  
When the fire was healthy and crackling once more it cast more light into the room, enough for Idhren to easily see when he turned around again. And what he saw now was not what he'd expected. Dorian lay passed out on the bed, of course, but Idhren had expected to find him with an open book, a not uncommon occurrence for either of them. He hadn't expected the various empty bottles on the floor.  
  
Had something happened? Dorian drank heavily and often, usually in public. But he rarely drank for the sole purpose of getting drunk. And even less frequently did he get drunk in private. Idhren knew his habits because they mirrored his own. A drink to drown out the whirlwind of thoughts in his head or the ache in his heart. It had been several months since Idhren had last felt that urge, however, and he'd thought the same was true for Dorian. What could have set him off?  
  
Now truly concerned, Idhren moved to the side of the bed. He picked up the discarded bottles and set them aside, so they could not be tripped on accidentally, then sat on the edge of the mattress.   
  
He wondered if he should wake Dorian.   
  
He hesitated, hand reached out toward the man but not quite willing to touch. Certainly he could just stay here the night and ask what was wrong in the morning. Maybe Dorian would appreciate that silent comfort more than Idhren prying into his personal fears.   
  
If something had upset him this badly, why hadn't he come to Idhren about it? He'd never had a problem interrupting the war council before, for serious or trivial reasons. Did he not feel comfortable talking to Idhren about his feelings? Or did he not want to put more burdens on the Inquisitor's shoulders?  
  
Dorian's problems were hardly a burden in Idhren's eyes. But perhaps Dorian did not see it that way.  
  
All these questions were only making him worry more. He could not wait until the morning, or until Dorian was finally comfortable enough to come to him. "Dorian?" he called softly, reaching out to run a hand through the man's sleep-mussed hair.

The man didn't even move in his sleep and Idhren frowned. Calling the man's name again, slightly louder this time, Idhren moved his hand down to Dorian's shoulder and shook gently. This time he was rewarded with a grumble and Dorian rolling away from him.   
  
Again, Idhren felt conflicted about waking him up. Maybe he should just wait until morning. He could spend the night here; the bed was large enough for the both of them, though it would be a snug fit. Idhren didn't mind that at all. And he'd never spent the night here before, they usually retired to the Inquisitor's rooms when they shared a bed.  
  
Decision made, Idhren pulled off his boots, then stripped down to pants and shirtsleeves, leaving his clothes folded atop the dresser before slipping under the covers. He pressed himself up against Dorian's back, wrapping one arm around the man's waist, and let his eyes fall shut.  
  
He was awoken the next morning by the body next to him shifting, a muffled groan in his ear, and the sun streaming in through the window to hit him directly in the eyes. Still half asleep, he groaned as well and tried to bury his face in the covers.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
The question was mumbled, Dorian's voice rough in the early morning and strained with the pain of a hangover.  
  
"Trying to sleep," Idhren mumbled back.  
  
He heard a huff, and then Dorian sat up, pulling the blankets away from Idhren's head and subjecting him to the full force of the morning sun. With a whine, he pulled a pillow over his head.  
  
"It's too early for this," Dorian muttered to himself.   
  
"Then come back to sleep," Idhren said. He reached a hand out, groping around until it landed on warm skin - Dorian's arm. But to his great surprise, Dorian shook off his hand and then climbed out of bed entirely. That was strange enough to have Idhren peeking out from under the pillow to see what the man was doing.  
  
Dorian did not look great, he realized as he came fully awake. He was bedraggled, slept in his clothes, with his hair and mustache askew and kohl smudged around his eyes. But that did little to hide the dark circles. And Idhren's memory of the night before came back full force. The empty bottles, Dorian passed out. He pushed the pillow away and slowly sat up. "Are you alright?"  
  
Dorian turned surprised eyes in his direction. "Oh, just peachy, of course," he replied flippantly, but the sarcasm in his tone was biting.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Idhren asked in concern, and confusion.  
  
Dorian stared at him a second and then sighed and turned away. “Why did you come here last night?”

Idhren frowned. "I haven't seen you in a couple days," he replied. "I missed you."  
  
Dorian actually scoffed, as though Idhren had said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. Was it so unbelievable that he would want to see the man he was in love with? Dorian was acting very strange. He was usually more than happy to stay in bed with Idhren until hunger or duty forced them to get up. Outside the sun was barely risen above the mountaintops and Dorian was already moving over to the vanity. And it seemed as though he couldn't get out of bed fast enough.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Idhren asked again. He didn't want to pry too much, knew Dorian didn't like talking about his feelings, but he was growing concerned with the man's strange behavior.  
  
"No, of course not. Everything I perfectly fine, as I told you," Dorian snapped back. "Why shouldn't it be?"  
  
Idhren had known Dorian far too long not to be able to see through his sarcasm. "Are you... angry with me?" he asked as he slowly began to realize what was going on.  
  
Dorian did not reply as he sat down at the vanity, frowning at his reflection in the mirror before beginning to wash off the smudged kohl of the day before.  
  
The silence could only indicate that Idhren was right.  
  
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked. He had no idea what Dorian might be angry with him about. He wracked his brain to think of something, anything, he could have done that would make Dorian angry enough to avoid him, to turn to drinking. But nothing came to mind. Everything had been fine the last time they'd seen each other, and it wasn't as though Idhren was consciously avoiding him, the Inquisitor's duties were many and important, and he thought Dorian understood that.  
  
Once more, Dorian scoffed. He finished washing his face and then glared at his reflection in the mirror. "I told you when we began this I had no interest in being a replacement for your late fiancé," he bit out.  
  
What had brought this up again all of a sudden? "You're not," Idhren insisted. Slowly he climbed out of bed, but hesitated when it came to crossing the room. Somehow, he didn't think his affections would be welcomed at the moment.  
  
"Do you truly expect me to believe that?" Dorian asked. Finally he turned in his chair, looking over his shoulder at Idhren with an accusing glare. "Do you even believe it yourself?"  
  
Idhren was taken aback. "Of course I do," he insisted, "Because it's the truth."  
  
Dorian rolled his eyes and turned away again, "Who are you trying to convince? Me? Or yourself?"  
  
Idhren was now even more confused than he had been the night before. He'd thought they were over this. Thought he'd made it clear that his feelings for Tainan were not a factor in their current relationship. And for a long time now, everything had been fine. Or so he'd thought. "What's brought this on all of a sudden?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know," Dorian sighed with exasperation, "Perhaps the fact that, despite your many instances that you've moved on, you continue to say his name in your sleep."

"In my sleep?" Idhren asked. He could not believe what he was hearing. "You're upset about something that I said in my sleep?" Now he was less concerned than he was annoyed. "Dorian I wasn't even conscious."

"That's precisely the point, isn't it?" Dorian replied.

Idhren's mind boggled. He raked a hand through his hair and then dragged it down his face. "And you think that means I... Don't really love you? That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Dorian asked, accusing.

"Of course it is," Idhren snapped. Absolutely ridiculous. People said all sorts of things in their sleep that had no bearing on the real world. "Do you think I've been lying to you this whole time? Why in the world would I do that?"

"Oh, I can think of plenty of reasons," Dorian shot back.

"You think I lied about my feelings for you just to get laid?" Idhren asked.

Dorian did not deign to respond to that question. And that was all the answer that Idhren needed. He gaped at Dorian as the man turned away from him again. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't believe Dorian thought him capable of something so terrible. He couldn't believe that Dorian trusted him so little that he would even consider such a thing.

"I can't believe this," was all that managed to escape his mouth, though. He turned his back on Dorian as well, mind still reeling and heart breaking in his chest.

He should have known. He should have known from the start that this would all end in flames. Just like everything between him and Dorian always did.

But maybe it wasn't him at all. He didn't even remember doing what Dorian said he'd done, how could he? "You're a fucking ass," he bit out, swallowing back the lump in his throat. Doing his best not to look at Dorian, he crossed the room to where his clothes were sitting atop the dresser and began pulling them on.

It was all a little too convenient, wasn't it? Accuse him of something he couldn't possibly remember doing, couldn't possibly have any control of, and use that as an excuse to end things with him. He’d always known, deep down, that the Liberati elf would never be good enough for the scion of House Pavus - estranged or otherwise.

“If you wanted to end this, you could have just said so, instead of this ridiculous act.” Idhren pulled his boots on with more force than was necessary. It was all he could do to make himself presentable, took every ounce of his self control not to break down. He wouldn’t give Dorian the pleasure, and if he started now he wasn’t certain he would be able to stop. It was early, with luck he’d make it back to his own room without being noticed. He’d have to cancel the morning’s meetings.

“An act?” Dorian asked, incredulous. “This is hardly an act. It’s certainly nothing compared to the one you pulled on me these past weeks.”

“How dare you!” Idhren rounded on him. Fury and grief warred in his chest, making his hands shake and the air turn static around him. “I have never once lied about my feelings for you and you know it! And how dare you bring Tainan into this!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Dorian accused. He rose to his feet now so he could give Idhren his full attention, and the full force of his ire. “You certainly bring them up often enough how could I possibly forget? It’s what this whole charade is about, isn’t it? You realized you don’t like sleeping alone, so you took the first willing bedwarmer you could find. But clearly you’re just missing your perfect Dalish husband.”

“Of course I miss them!” Idhren exploded. “How could I not miss someone I shared my life with for years? That doesn’t mean I’m not still in love with you!”

The silence that followed Idhren's shouted declaration was deafening. He stood there, chest heaving and throat tight, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Those damn calf eyes that Dorian found so hard to resist.

Idhren swallowed back the lump in his throat and looked away from Dorian again. "Do you know what demons like to tempt me with, in the Fade?" he asked, much quieter now but struggling not to let his voice betray him. "Do you know how many have worn Tainan's face? They promise the life I had with the clan. No politics, no war, no rifts. Just a simple life with normal worries and someone who loves me."

Some of Dorian's own anger fizzled away when he heard this. It wasn't a particularly surprising revelation, he knew how demons worked, but he had never thought much about Idhren's experiences in the Fade beyond the physical ones. It was a normal part of being a mage, and so common that no one in Tevinter ever spoke of it unless something unusual happened. "What does that have to do with this?" he asked.

Idhren sighed. "Because even if a demon promised me that every night for the rest of my life I would not take it," he said. "Not because I've been trained, but because... Because as much as I regret letting that life slip through my fingers I would not trade this one to have it back." He turned back to Dorian finally and met the man's gaze. "I would not trade you. And maybe if Tainan were here that would be different, maybe I never would have remembered my feelings for you. But that's not how life worked out. Tainan is gone. And I miss them every day, but I am happy with you. I love you."

Dorian found himself at a sudden loss for words. And he was beginning to think that perhaps he had let his emotions get the better of him and jumped to conclusions.

"Please," Idhren continued, in the face of Dorian's silence. Hesitantly, he took a single step toward the man, putting him within arm's reach, but did not dare come any closer. "You are not a replacement, Dorian. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel that way."

Dorian looked away from those pleading eyes. He felt a fool still, but the reasons for it were warring in his head. Would he be a fool to believe Idhren’s words now? Or had he been a fool not to trust him before? “I… suppose I should have spoken with you, before jumping to conclusions.” Rather than immediately going to drink himself into oblivion.

Tentative, Idhren took another half step toward him and reached his hand out for Dorian’s. When the man did not immediately pull away, he gently laced their fingers together. “I forgive you,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry… I don’t want…” he cut himself off and reconsidered his words before trying again. “Is there something more I can do to convince you? To put you at ease?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Dorian admitted.

Idhren nodded slowly. “Well, if you do think of something, let me know.” He squeezed Dorian’s fingers lightly and was relieved when the gesture was returned. And when Dorian finally met his gaze again with a hesitant smile. “And if I ever make you feel like this again, tell me.”

“I believe I can do that.”


End file.
